


Where We Belong

by idontwanttodothisanymore



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternatively I talk in circles in an effort to be flowery and poetic, Based off of some stupid shit I get up to with my friend, Late night drive and contemplation, M/M, Modern AU by the way, Supernova reference, Writing practice, You can decide their relationship, dt: rose, newtmas - Freeform, where everything is lovely and the boys are safe and sound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:35:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontwanttodothisanymore/pseuds/idontwanttodothisanymore
Summary: Everything's fucking weird.Nothing's sacred. But, it doesn't matter. Because the world is vast but everything you do leads to the grand finale of absolute nothingness. What matters is here, now, and what you're willing to do in order to keep yourself sane. Sane and entertained.Newt and Thomas came to this realisation a while back. They exist on the same psychological planes. It works for them.





	Where We Belong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weallfalldowneventually](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weallfalldowneventually/gifts).



> Prompt: "Everything's fucking weird."
> 
> Your move.

Everything's fucking weird.

Nothing's sacred. But, it doesn't matter. Because the world is vast but everything you do leads to the grand finale of absolute nothingness. What matters is here, now, and what you're willing to do in order to keep yourself sane. Sane and entertained.

Newt and Thomas came to this realisation a while back. They exist on the same psychological planes. It works for them.

The cool wind whistles peacefully throughtout the night. Newt finds that he doesn't enjoy it half as much in the sunlight. Despite the massive amount vitamin d his skin would be soaking up in the daytime, it drains him of what little energy he has to begin with. Makes his eyes droopy and he always finds that he's accidentally slipping in and out of consciousness. It makes him feel drunk, weak, and weary of his surroundings. A little paranoid too, _if you ask him in the small morning hours between his next catnap and sixteeth cup of hibiscus tea_. If he's being honest, it isn't fair. But, he's never really all too honest about himself. To himself.

There's no one else out right now. Thomas knows his way around this godforsaken city, in that smart witty way that Newt is innately jealous of. Tommy keeps track of which streets, freeways, highways and everything else in-between that will be empty at specific times. It's spectacularly convenient. He's a lot smarter than he lets on or likes to give himself credit for. It's ~~a little~~ infuriating. Newt thinks that Thomas has a supernova burning deep inside his brain supplying and saving all sorts of information - important or not (but even _that_ is debatable). A cosmic love of information scorching his soul that will burn your fingertips right off if Thomas fancies your company. Newt thinks it's kind of beautiful knowing so much about anything and being passionate about gathering information for the sake of it. (But Newt thinks everything is beautiful and Thomas doesn't ever take him all too seriously. Also ~~a bit~~ infuriating. He isn't too good with words after all, so he loses a lot of credibility there.) His fingertips burn when Thomas opens his mouth. It's peculiar. Thomas enjoys Newt's company more times than not. At least he likes to think so.

The streetlights don't flicker anymore. Local government does not care enough to fix them anymore. Instead, they go out entirely as Thomas whizzes under them. They both like to take turns guessing which ones will go out next. They're tied 3 to 3 right now. But the night's early and they've barely surpassed the clean stretch of road leading into smaller cities. They're also betting a stupid  _absolutely stupid_ amount of money, that neither of them have, on when exactly the lights will turn off. It's all in good fun, at least it starts fun. Newt says sunrise and Thomas says 8 o'clock sharp.

Newt outstretches his fingers to play with the wind while Thomas hums along to some tune with a heavy backbeat. The usual. He finds himself humming along as well only stopping as they make eye contact under the stupidly bright red hue of the traffic light. It doesn't mean anything. Not really. Newt likes eye contact. It means he's got your attention. Thomas breaks away first because Newt motions his index finger just slightly upwards when he detects a color change.

Newt appreciates everything that Thomas has to offer. His attention span isn't the best but he makes a genuine effort for Newt's crazed ramblings. Be it emotional or insane conspiracy theories. Thomas despises eye contact but has grown to not shift away when Newt gazes into his eyes. It's the small things really even if Thomas doesn't think much of them.

There are no goals or destinations involved in these late night/early morning rendezvous. It's pure. Simple. Just so so _so_ lovely. 

Thomas has always enjoyed being behind the wheel. Newt, on the off hand, does as well but he prefers to be a passenger. It all balances out. Thomas adores to chase adventure while venturing out to discover new places. Adores how each city's backdrop contrasts from one another while somehow managing to remain the same. Loves to entertain the thought of sleepy towns with braindead citizens living their lives in black and white. Well no, _maybe that's Newt_. They meld together sometimes. It's a little off-putting.

Newt's a peculiar sort of cynic. He likens up to the idea that people can have pure intentions despite what Thomas may yell at him for. (Thomas: A Pessimist.) Wants to believe that the world is technicolor and he's just living with monochrome colored glasses on. The world's a funny place. All sorts of people build assumptions on nothing. Associating the two of them as nothing but outcasts and things that will never amount to anything. But that's a tad redundant. Isn't it? Living is a feat in itself.

We're getting off-track.

There are no stars in the sky. That's ~~a bit~~ infuriating but Newt hasn't seen them in a good century. At least it feels like it. He reclines the leather seat as far back as he can because why not. The exposed top of Thomas's cliché corvette shows him an ugly violet night sky. He despises it. He prefers the pretty palette of colors associated with sunrises and sunsets.

Newt looks over. Tommy's tapping at the wheel so comically off-beat that the laugh that leaves him was too difficult to hold back. Thomas shoots a knowing but still "menacing" look. What's it going to do? Shoot fear into his heart? Abso _fucking_ lutely not. Thomas tries though. Newt shrugs it off, all together too dismissedly for the other boy, and pokes his cheek in a sort of apology. He's most definitely not sorry. Thomas is an idiot.

It's probably one in the morning now and Newt is burning up. Despite the cool air blanketing around him. Forehead burning, it feels like fire is licking him from the inside out. Something he thought he would adjust to after a good twenty years of living but _no_. Saying he feels hot is such an understatement that it brings anger to the surface. Leading to more heat joining the raging fire inside. It burns like the wildforest fires that spread so quickly down in this damned place. Makes his stomach turn and blood boil.

Thomas offers a hand to Newt and he wants to open his mouth to offer a snarky comment about how _his hands should be at ten and two_ but he decides against it. He grasps it gently, warming Thomas's ice cold fingers immediately.

It's funny how the world pushes two people together.

Thomas murmurs a comment about how it always burns to touch the sandy blonde. It always burns for Newt too.


End file.
